


Cookies After Closing

by penhales



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, everyone lives because this is infinitely more fun with all of the players on the board
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-07-22 10:04:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7431714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penhales/pseuds/penhales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark is an aspiring baker working a dead-end mall job to occupy her until she can become a baker's apprentice. When Sansa is stuck with repeated closing shifts, she makes a new friend and is forced into reconsidering her plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Closing Shift #1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm breaking my AO3 radio silence for the first time in a long while (and without a beta!), but I'm very excited to bring ya'll the shopping mall Sansan AU that none of you asked for. Hope you like it!

 

It was so _hot_. The summer was breaking all kinds of heat records, the humidity nearly impossible to avoid. Sansa was grumbling in front of her mirror again, trying (somewhat in vain) to apply anti-frizz cream to her hair. She’d meet an irritating amount of criticism at work for having fly-aways, she knew, but it seemed unavoidable.

She had only taken the boutique sales support job because there was nothing much better available for summer work. Margaery had pushed and pushed it until Sansa gave up on any useful kind of internship that she could have found instead. It would have been far more beneficial to be working the long and grueling hours in a bakery, learning to make pastries and breads, but instead there she was, having to pace around a store and punch numbers into a register for hours at a time. It made money and as her father sternly reminded her, built character. She would have preferred building cakes. 

Sansa was more than annoyed to find that Arya had used the last of the hairspray again. Her little sister loved her new pixie cut and wore it well, but always managed to get into Sansa’s products once she’d run out. Her hair would have to do as is, a little frizzy and worn loose, as there wasn’t time to pass by the shops and get anything to fix it. Unless Joffrey and Cersei were coming in again, it wouldn’t matter much. If they were, god help her. Joffrey was never one to miss a chance to make a jab at her expense. Sansa had thought him quite attractive at one time, even occasionally daydreaming of marrying him and living off of his fortune with him. Then again, she’d also found Loras Tyrell quite attractive (and still did, truthfully), but he was most definitely unavailable to her, as he preferred to spend his time around the young and muscled staff of the store across the way from hers. It was really not much of a surprise that Joffrey was so rotten of a match for her, after all. Sansa hardly had talent in picking even passing crushes. 

Once she'd given up on her hair, she raced to meet Robb out on the driveway. He'd been waiting a while already, every once in a while honking to re-signal his arrival. She would make him late to work again, but it never seemed to bother him much. Robb worked at the family business with their father and lived down the street from her parents with his very pregnant wife. Sansa was secretly relieved he hadn’t left her totally on her own with them out in the suburbs, as he had originally planned to. Their brother Jon had enthusiastically left the house as soon as he could without looking back and she quietly resented him for it. She couldn’t blame his eagerness to leave on anything concretely awful though; their mother hadn’t ever been as kind to him as she was the rest of them. She had often made him to feel a stranger in their house, and only because he wasn't her own. When their aunt died, she passed Jon into their father's hands legally, and he wouldn't hear a word against her wishes, though Sansa's mother argued against it. 

Once Jon was out, the hostile attention could be redirected onto Sansa. She liked to think it was partially because she’d gotten his room once he left, and so her mother associated her with the burden she felt Jon had given them, though he did quiet a lot to ease it in his time there. Neither he nor Sansa would go to college either, no matter their mother’s lectures about its importance. Jon became a personal trainer, his dream, and then there Sansa was, riding in her big brother’s nice car, into the city to work her poorly paying job as a shop girl for the Lannisters. Specifcally, for Tyrion Lannister. Why Tyrion Lannister had any interest in owning a clothing/accessory store for career women was beyond her, but she didn’t mind him half as much as she disliked his family members.  

Robb never talked much during the long drive, choosing instead to play music Sansa didn't care for and drum on the steering wheel to it. Getting to work at last was somewhat of a relief. Margaery was already there, looking somewhat sheepish as Cersei stood with her hands on her hips, clearly in the midst of a critique of some kind. 

“You can understand why this doesn’t work, can’t you? I don’t want to buy any of these. Who _would_ , with them all over the place like this?”

“You’re right, ma’am.”

They both turned to look at Sansa when she entered.

"Little dove! Come look at this display your coworker set up. It's disgraceful."

Sansa put on her "customer service" face and glanced at poor Margaery’s well assembled table, each necklace getting a chance to see the light and be admired.

“It needs some work, Mrs. Baratheon.”

Cersei chuckled in her way, from her chest and with very little actual humor in it.

“Well, we don’t pay you to be smart, do we?”

"No, ma'am."

She turned her attention back to Margaery, passing a necklace to her without much care for its delicacy.

“Fix this. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am, right away.”

"And Sansa? Don't come in with your hair looking like that again. Put some thought into it, for christ's sake, be a lady."

"Yes, ma'am, Mrs. Baratheon."

As soon as her back was turned, Margaery pulled a grotesque face in Cersei’s direction. They were lucky none of the gratuitous decorative mirrors caught her reflection. Cersei's prada heels clicked across the marble floor, clashing against the vacant pop music echoing through the store. They heard Tyrion greeting her with some attempt at familial warmth and knew the threat was temporarily disarmed. Once the lioness was tucked safely away in Tyrion’s office, Margaery opened the floor to gossiping between incoming customers, as was their daily custom. 

“You won't believe this. Joffrey asked me out this weekend.”

Sansa’s stomach turned over at the sound of his name alone.

“What did you say to him?”

“Oh god, no. _Obviously_. What kind of a grown man follows his mom around like that?”

Sansa laughed,

“You don’t have to say ‘no’ for me, you know. I’m sure he’s perfectly charming outside of this store.”

Margaery’s look of disgust brought her even more mirth,

“Oh, sure. As long as Mommy’s there too.”

And this was how they always passed the longer shifts, gossiping relentlessly, milking their break time for all it was worth. Their manager, Varys, was hardly ever there, as he managed several other stores for the Lannisters at the same time. There was talk of hiring a second manager, but until then, Margaery and Sansa could avoid doing much around the store besides their regular duties. Eventually, Cersei became bored of Tyrion and left. She didn’t even notice that they hadn’t touched the display since she’d first come through. Joff not being at her heels seemed odd, but it wasn't for Sansa to question, as she was pleased he wasn't there in the first place. 

She’d never gone out with him, he’d never even bothered to ask, though he’d spent some time leaning against the counter and flirting with her, which she’d thought was serious at the time. Sansa learned after a while that it was his little hobby to flirt with the new female employees of his uncle’s store and was turned off by the realization. She was the new pretty toy and at some point she’d lose her intrigue and he’d move on to the next girl without a second thought. It didn’t stop her from wishing she had someone anyhow. Especially when Joff wouldn’t leave Margaery alone. Playing second fiddle to Margaery Tyrell, of all people, made her feel even worse than the realization that Joff didn’t really care for her. Margaery was beautiful, with her (dyed) light blonde hair and glowing skin tone. Sansa felt like the great ginger giant by comparison. She knew her height had its advantages, but certainly not where men were concerned; they usually didn’t want someone as tall (or sometimes taller) than them outside of the modeling industry. 

Tyrion came through soon after Cersei left and drummed his knuckles on the cashiers’ counter, as was his habit to announce his presence to his employees.

“Hey, so, here’s the deal. I need one of you to close up tonight. It's my dad's birthday tonight and I am just not getting out of it, no matter what I try.”

Margaery looked balefully at Sansa. She had opened the store while Sansa didn’t have to come in until noon. It was clear who should be closing.

“I’ll do it, Mr. Lannister, Margaery’s already been here all day.”

“By yourself? That’s not very safe. Let me call mall security and get them to send someone.”

“I can do it on my own, really.”

“I'm not letting you do that, it would weigh on my conscience all evening and make my wine sour, and we can't have that. I’ll have someone come and give you a hand, then they'll see to it that you get to your car safely.”

Sansa faked a smile poorly. She’d rather just do it alone than have to deal with any of the “ex-russian-mob-esque” security guards the Lannisters had hired to patrol their shopping center at night. Each of them was bigger and uglier than the last and the thought of having to be alone with one of them was far less than appealing. 

“Thank you, Mr. Lannister.”

She silently hoped that she'd get lucky just once and get a talker. Maybe one that wasn't _so_ ugly, either.

Her odds were low. 

 


	2. Pint Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing: Sandor!  
> I'm hoping to alternate POVs to give this some variety, though I had the worst time trying to write his. Sandor has an interesting mind, and it's not all that comfortable for digging around in. Anyway, I hope you all like it! (ps: the cookies are coming, I swear)

                                                                                                      Chapter 2: Pint Glass

                                                                                                          

Sandor hated working Tuesday nights most of all. Tuesday night was pub night. Once a week, he made it a habit to drag himself out to the pub and have a smoke over a pint, preferably while some sports event distracted everyone in the bar from his presence. His favorite was an Irish place, dimly lit and noisy, filled with cigarette smoke. No one would pay him any mind, being all too busy telling each other to fuck off while laughing or telling each other to fuck off without laughing. Only the barkeep knew his name and face, and he aimed to keep it that way. His mistake had been bringing Meryn Trant there.

Trant wasn’t as awful a bastard as he’d imagined, at first, but as the beer kept pouring and he got drunker, he began to spill his true nature to Sandor. The rest of the pub didn’t miss it either, as there was nothing on the TV behind the bar to entertain anyone. He didn’t have much to talk about, aside from explicit things about what he did with one of the Lannisters’ shop girls.

“I’ll tell you, these girls will do anything you tell ‘em to.”

Sandor had taken a large sip of his beer. Somehow he couldn’t visualize that some sweet young thing had her hands all over Trant on the job.

“All you have to do is tell ‘em. They’re all desperate for a quick fuck.”

He’d cost her the job, but it didn’t much matter,

“She was better off going back to school. Never did have much of a brain.”

Sandor felt his stomach turning just listening to him. There were many things he was willing to do, but going after a near under-aged girl at work wasn’t one of them. The rest of the pub was beginning to cast hostile eyes in Trant’s direction. This was a place that decent men went after work to enjoy a pint and laugh with each other. These men almost always had daughters, or at the least they were decent enough to know that Trant’s behavior was inexcusable. After he’d had enough to drink and was up at the bar ordering again, Sandor clocked him over the back of the head and knocked him cold. He dropped money from Trant’s wallet onto the bar to cover his tab and called for a cab. Once Trant had finally been sent home, Sandor had to go back inside and have another drink. He had a bad taste in his mouth. The barkeep gave it to him on the house and, patting his shoulder, said,

“If it’s all the same to you, we’d rather you come alone from now on.”

 Only once before, Sandor had chanced bringing Gregor there for a pint. Naturally, his brother managed to create a bar fight, which was very dangerous for his opponents. Gregor was larger even than Sandor, and very mean even when he wasn’t drinking already. That time, Sandor had apologized and paid double what they drank, and suffered without much to eat until his next paycheck as a result. He felt the perfect fool for thinking that Gregor could go out in public and enjoy a drink without stirring up trouble. They were only children when Gregor burned him and he always wondered if Gregor might change, if it was a passing phase, but he always found himself disappointed. Looking to redeem the relationship did no good and only hurt other people, so that was the end of that.

Trant caught on to what had happened at the bar, presumably when he woke missing money from his wallet and in the back of a dirty cab. He saw to it that Sandor was assigned his night shift every Tuesday night to begin his payback. Sandor missed the beer more than anything, but it hadn’t been particularly cumbersome until the youngest of the Lannister trifecta called into security and requested a guard at his shop that night. The last thing he wanted was to deal with Tyrion Lannister, of all people, but he would have to if he wanted to have supper every night as opposed to every other. Sandor already knew it meant babysitting some girl while she tried to close up shop without shaking from her fear of him.  His facial scarring wasn’t as awful as it had been before the first surgery, they’d be truly scared to see him that way.

It never did matter much anyway, the girl would close up shop and practically run to her car to rid herself of him, Sandor knew. It went that way every time, and wasn’t likely to go any different.

But then he got to the damn store and he could just tell this girl would be worse than the others.

Her coworkers had already left her alone with Tyrion, who was still there locking up his own office. He felt for her for a brief moment; he knew the level of irritation Tyrion could impart on a person. He only noticed Sandor on his way out, putting on a welcoming smile for him. Sandor was tempted to remind him he wasn’t one of the “white-wine-sipping-stay-at-home” women Tyrion’s store was opened for, but he kept his mouth shut. It would shorten their encounter.

“Sansa, this is Sandor Clegane.”

She looked up at him with lovely blue eyes for a moment, hardly considering him at all. It was long enough for him to purse his lips and nod her way. She wasn’t thrilled about the arrangement, he could tell by the way she was vigorously wiping down the counter. He could certainly see why she’d been hired. Joffrey had probably had a field day with her, she didn’t look very bright, though she was very pretty. She was tall for a Lannister shop girl, but perhaps they preferred them that way now, with long legs and endless red hair. Sandor had nothing against it.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

Tyrion clapped his hands before the silence could hang too long and both of them nearly jumped from the suddenness of the noise.

“I’m off. Take care, Sansa. You see to it she gets out safely, Clegane.”

“Yes, sir.”

With a little nod, Tyrion turned his back on them and left. The two of them stood listening to his footsteps echoing down the long hallway for a while. She was the one who broke the silence, and Sandor wished she hadn’t. He preferred speaking as little as possible to the shop girls. He had never been one for conversing and in general he wasn’t one to associate with pretty young women. By the looks of this girl, she was one of the Lannisters’ favorites, very pretty and hollow-headed. They probably wouldn’t take kindly to his frightening her by trying to talk to her, even if she did start it. 

“Thank you for coming to help.”

“I’m paid to be here, same as you.”

She went about her tidying business, wiping countertops, rearranging clothes, which irritated him. _Who gives a fuck if the clothes aren’t straightened? People will buy them anyway, they’re not smart enough to notice if they’re hanging straight._ But she didn’t hurry through it, as he was used to the girls doing, she took her time.

“Don’t you ever want to get home tonight?”

“It’s important that I do it right or I’ll hear about it tomorrow.”

“You mean someone honestly gives a fuck if the dress is sticking out too much from the rack?”

Her eyes flashed at him.

“Yes. And I hear about it when I don’t fix it before closing.”

He sighed and returned to his silent brooding, arms crossed over his chest. If she was annoyed, it was her fault for speaking first. If she didn’t want him to talk, she shouldn’t have invited him to do so.

“Is this your only job? Standing in corners and brooding in the case that there’s danger?”

She was smiling, which was confusing. She wasn’t about to let him ruffle her feathers without ruffling some back, he realized. The corner of his mouth upturned. 

“Yes. I do night security, I'm paid to brood in corners in case of danger."

She wasn’t looking at him anymore, but she kept on,

“This is my only job, as well. I just needed to get out of my house. My family is there a little too often."

She was trying to have an actual conversation with him. He would humor her this once. 

“I’m not one for family, myself.”

“No?”

“No.”

He wasn’t sure what more to say after that, but she seemed pleased with herself. She had a nice smile. She looked around the shop as a final once-over to make sure she hadn’t missed anything, hands on hips, inspecting her little kingdom. 

“I believe I’m done. I’ll lock up, you’re free to go, My brother is picking me up.”

If it were any other Lannister shop girl, he’d actually consider leaving the job unfinished in the hopes of sequestering himself in the security office and having one of the beers that was certainly in the mini fridge. Something in his gut tugged him a different direction.

“I’m to see that you get into a car safely. Job’s not done otherwise.”

She nodded and got a faraway look in her eye before she went to hit the lights. He wondered if she meant to make him go away, with his eyes looking too closely at her, his lack of talent in conversation, his ugly face. She was probably scared of him. The poor girl surely didn’t want to suffer him any longer.

“Thank you, that’s very kind.”

They were pretty words, though he knew the truth was that she wanted him gone. He tried to mutter something about “my job”, but not much came out. She locked the doors behind them and they walked in silence through the dim main corridor towards the double doors her brother was waiting outside of. She didn’t rush ahead of him, though, she walked at his side, and the perfume of her hair was light and just a little bit sweet. Nothing like the overwhelming perfume of the darkened stores they passed. He didn’t much mind the company, even if it was quiet and a little awkward. It was nice to walk beside a woman and not to feel like she was running from him.

He opened the door for her and said gruffly,

“Goodnight.”

She smiled at him and returned the courtesy,

“Goodnight.”

He would think on her again as he opened a beer in the guard shack. She really was very pretty. 


	3. Gingerbread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the encouraging comments and all of the kudos! It's so nice to be writing again and to give some life to this story, which has been sitting in multiple journals that I'm supposed to be doing homework in/taking notes in. This is a better use of paper, in my opinion. 
> 
> Also I'm super excited to be bringing you some cookies in this new chapter because cookies are the best and will factor in heavily, hence the title. And to make this even better we're seeing the beginnings of a great friendship, so it's all a win-win in this chapter. See ya'll next time! Enjoy!

 

 

Catelyn was already at the table with a cup of coffee by the time Sansa got downstairs. She was used to her mother waking before everyone else. It was the way it had always been in their household, her mother awake and holding coffee by 6am. Someone had to wake the children for school and their father, Ned, was already away at work by then. Four children living under one roof together often created trying situations for Catelyn and Ned, though especially when all of them were prone to squabbling with each other over nothing. Her mother wore the exhaustion on her face, like a mask over the beauty from her youth, though her hair shone auburn as ever and her eyes never betrayed their icy blue with another color. They were only two of the genetic gifts she gave to Sansa, who was the only one of her siblings to take after her mother.

Sansa poured herself a cup and sat beside her at the breakfast table, reaching for the paper to read. She preferred to read news on her phone, but her mother frowned upon it, and Sansa didn’t wish to start an unnecessary argument over it in the mornings when it was still quiet and lovely.

“Good morning, love.”

“Good morning, mom. Did you get to sleep okay?”

“I got there, but I didn’t stay long.”

Catelyn sighed and toyed with her mug.

“I was hoping we could talk about something.”

Sansa could feel the knot in her stomach. She knew inevitably what they would talk about and she was very anxious to avoid it at such an early hour. All she wanted was an easy and relaxing morning before the long day began.

“Alright.”

“You’ve been working very hard and we are proud of you, but out of my own motherly concern, are you saving any of your wages back?”

“Of course I am.”

“Are you saving enough back?”

“Enough for what?”

She knew it was a stupid question, but she was ready for her mother to get to the point.  
The argument was a tired one and she was sick of it.

“To get yourself a place to live. You’re old enough now, you need to learn the ins and outs of being on your own and fending for yourself.”

“I know how to fend for myself!”

“No, Sansa, you’ve really got to do it on your own to properly learn. Look at Jon, love, he pays his own way and he’s done alright for himself.”

“Jon isn’t working part time in a shopping mall. He’s done better than I have, it’s unfair to compare us.”

Catelyn sighed at her through her nose, her lips pursed in frustration.

“You can’t share a bedroom with Arya forever, my love. You’re a woman now, you need your own space, and you won’t get it as long as you’re still here.”

Sansa knew she was right, but it stung. Her mother poured her remaining coffee into the sink and looked at her with all of the tiredness she could muster to her eyes.

“And you ought to be able to date without worrying about us.”

Sansa felt herself blushing at that.

“I date!”

“Flirting with that Lannister boy doesn’t count, sweetheart. Please just think about saving up for your own place. Your father and I will happily help you get it, but please think about it. We love you, but you cannot stay forever.”

Sansa nodded at her, her cheeks still burning in embarrassment. When things seemed interesting with Joffrey, she’d made the mistake of mentioning it at home. Her mother tried gently pushing her towards asking him on a date, but she couldn’t do it. She was too shy, and soon after she discovered his penchant for flirtation, anyhow. Sansa had spent the whole week after burying herself in pie-making. The family hardly complained when she baked, though her mother didn’t care for it, which was exactly what drove her into angry-baking that morning.

As soon as her mother ducked out for work, she set into her recipe book. It would be gingerbread cookies, most definitely. The dough was always so tough to work with and the strain it put on her muscles tended to calm her. It wasn’t nearly the season for them, but she didn’t care, she needed the outlet more than the season mattered. Sansa had to bake _something_ before she lost her mind. Unfortunately, angry baking gingerbread meant that there were far too many cookies by the time she finished. She hadn’t even iced any yet, but she’d easily made four dozen. It took the whole morning to get the anger out, which meant there was time for four separate batches. She couldn’t imagine her family eating all of them on their own. None of them were even particularly fond of gingerbread. Arya didn’t much like the flavor, Bran and Rickon weren’t fond of cookies without chocolate, and her mother never ate the sweets Sansa baked at all. She and her father couldn’t hope to eat so many gingerbread cookies on their own, so she packed two batches up in a nice little box without icing them. Margaery never turned down a good cookie, and she was sure Tyrion might be willing to try them as well.

She offered one to Robb when he came to get her, and he smiled, but politely declined. He and Talisa were both avoiding sweets and _of course_ , of course they were. The doctor was worried about her sugar intake during the pregnancy. Sansa didn’t press the matter any further; Tyrion and Margaery could still help.

And then there was the shop. Everything was in chaos, from Margaery texting through the entire remainder of her shift all the way down to Tyrion trying desperately to train the new sales associate, Podrick, and failing. He seemed smart enough, but lost his grip on the register almost every time a customer came, which drove Sansa into insanity. The women they most often served weren’t patient or kind or forgiving to begin with, but they especially weren’t when Pod messed every transaction up and had to start all over multiple times per customer. When Margaery clocked out she smiled sweetly at Sansa as she left, but Sansa wanted nothing more than to give her a good smack across the face.

Tyrion approached her not long after, looking quite worn thin, himself.

“Sansa, I know it’s been a long day, but I must ask something of you. Podrick cannot close yet, for reasons I shouldn’t have to specify and I can’t afford to stay. I’m afraid my father has taken ill and there is a lot that needs to be done.”

Sansa knew what was coming, but she did her best to grit her teeth and smile through it anyhow,

“Can I trust you with closing for the rest of the week? I’ll see to it that you’re well compensated for the extra time.”

She would have collapsed if she wasn’t standing directly in front of her boss.

“Of course, sir.”

“Margaery said that she would take over next week as a fair exchange, though I wouldn’t take her word as gospel.”

“No problem, I’ll be happy to do it.”

She knew he could hear the lack of life in her voice, but Tyrion himself was so exhausted that he either ignored it or didn’t catch it. He thanked her graciously and excused himself to go home and then she was stuck with Podrick until just before closing. He seemed kind and well-meaning, despite the fact that he couldn’t manage to do his job properly. Sansa hoped for his sake he would figure it out before Cersei met him. She wouldn't spare him, she even came after Sansa, who could technically be called the best employee the shop had. 

“You wouldn’t mind getting the floor for me before you’re off, would you?”

“Not at all. That's something I can do.”

He didn’t say much more while sweeping the floor for her. He seemed like good company, if she ever got to know him better before he cost himself the job. He was quiet, too, like the night guard that had joined her the evening before. She wondered who it would be, between the one that leered, the one that spat into a cup, or the one she’d had the night before. He made her nervous, but she could at least get him to say something to her that wasn’t one word by itself or something that induced skin crawling or both. All in all, he wasn’t the worst of them. Podrick finished the chore quickly and clocked out, mentioning something about getting home to his son. She didn’t particularly care to listen very well, already dreading the rest of her evening.

After he left, no one came for a time, and she thought Tyrion might have forgotten to call. It wouldn’t be entirely safe for her to be on her own in the mall after hours, all kinds wandered the halls until security picked them up and tossed them out. Worst of all, customers could attempt to drift in after closing. God forbid any more customers tried to weasel their way in after closing time. 

“Sorry I’m late.”

The sound of his voice gave her a little relief, though seeing him still made her as nervous as the night before.

“That’s alright. It’s been quiet. Sandor, right?”

“Yes.”

He assumed the position near the door, lost in thought and silence already. Sansa reached beneath the counter for a fresh pen and her hand bumped into the gingerbread from that morning. She hadn’t given it away to anyone, in all her hurry and annoyance with her coworkers. Podrick’s son would have enjoyed it, Margaery might have taken it to her ravenous brothers, she could have even sent it to Tywin Lannister with Tyrion, but none of those opportunities seized her and she was still stuck with two dozen extra cookies.  She couldn’t imagine that the guard would get much out of them, but it was worth trying to avoid stirring up even more trouble at home.

“I have a question for you.”

“Yes?”

“Do you enjoy gingerbread?”

He looked over at her like she’d said something insane and/or stupid and she instantly regretted opening her mouth again.  
He obviously wouldn’t take her day old cookies, and she’d been annoying for asking.

“I do. It’s a favorite.”

She sighed heavily with relief and pulled the massive bag out from under the counter.

“Then you’d better take this.”

He looked at her for a long time, saying nothing.

“Well? Do you want them or not? I did too many this morning and forgot about these.”

He finally came to the counter and opened the bag there, trying one right in front of her. Sansa couldn’t help herself watching, it was essential to know how they’d come out after all, as she’d be eating two dozen at home herself. He chewed quietly and then nodded at her.

“Really good.”

He took three more and finished them quickly, much to Sansa’s delight. What luck that he liked gingerbread and what luck that she’d done a bang up job on them, even while in her literally furious rush. 

“Thank you. I always end up baking when I'm upset.”

Her embarrassment seized her after it had already come out.   
He watched her carefully over a half-eaten cookie,

“What happened?”

He looked as though he hadn’t really meant to ask, but it was prompting enough for her, since she'd already begun the embarrassment on her own. Sansa leaned back against the counter. 

“I fought with my mother this morning.”

He nodded silently and finished another cookie,

“I can listen if you want to talk.”

Her stomach tightened.

“Oh, it’s not that interesting.”

“It’s clearly interesting enough that you mentioned it to a total stranger. Do you need to talk?”

Her embarrassment flooded her chest as she slowly gave in and told more of it. She told him about everything except for her mother’s comments about Joffrey, all the way down to what Jon was doing for a living and why it mattered for the sake of the argument. He looked her in the eye the entire time she spoke, which was unnerving, but it told her that he was really listening to her. Sansa wasn’t entirely used to being listened to, but she knew that she liked it. By the time she finished, he’d come to lean on the counter beside her. She hadn't felt his proximity very acutely because up close he was a little less frightening. He had kind eyes. And it was difficult to feel afraid when the gingerbread men he ate were comically small in his giant hand.

He didn’t say anything in response when she finished, just nodded thoughtfully and directed his eyes to the wall. Sansa supposed there wasn’t much to say; he didn’t know her at all, and she’d gone on incessantly. She hardly even told her family about her day after she made it home, let alone complete strangers while still at work.

“I’m not entirely sure of what to do after this. I’ll never be satisfied if I only do what would make mom happy.”

“You don’t want an apartment of your own? I thought it was you that just said a day ago you weren’t much for family.”

“I wouldn’t even know how to get an apartment.”

He looked over at her again with some amusement. 

“You know what I think?”

“What?”

“You’re scared.”

“How would you know?”

“I know what fear looks and sounds like very well. I have a certain amount of experience with it.”

He had a point. Leaving home was a terrifying prospect, as much as she wanted to do it. Even more, he would have been used to the fear. The Lannisters didn’t hire security guards unless the person interviewing could instill some amount of fear by simply existing in the same room. 

"Living on your own can be nice, besides."

They settled into a slight pause and she chose the moment to check her phone. Only then did she notice three missed calls and several unread texts from Robb.

“Oh, shit. I have to go.”

She offered him the rest of the cookies. He’d liked them and there were too many to bring home with her, especially after making Robb wait on her. He offered to walk her to the outside door again, which she accepted because, she decided, she liked him. He was her favorite night security guard so far, though the bar was a low one. At the least, he listened very well and she didn't encounter good listeners often. 

“Goodnight, then. Best luck with your family.”

“I guess…I could tell you what happens. I’m closing all week.”

Something momentarily passed over his face that she couldn’t read, but then it was gone and he nodded at her.

“Sure. I'll hold you to that.”

Before the queer feeling in her stomach could settle in, she put on a smile and nodded over to Robb's waiting car.

“I’ve got to go, goodnight!”

She gave him a small wave and rushed out to the car, eager to get home. He’d let her prattle on for nearly half an hour, which she appreciated, but it was obvious that Robb was far less grateful.

“What the hell took so long?”

“They held me late, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t make a habit of it, please, you've got a right to be home at a decent hour like everyone else.”

“Right, of course. Thank you for waiting for me.”

Sansa thought about telling Robb the truth, but thought better of it. No reason she couldn't keep some nice things just for herself. 


	4. Tywin

When Sandor read the email, he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

_We deeply regret to inform our loyal and hardworking employees…_

There wasn’t a day of his adult life yet in which Tywin Lannister hadn’t been a steady presence. He didn’t see the man on any kind of daily basis, but he just knew that somewhere Tywin, who had picked him up and off of the streets, was running a business under which he was an employee. The man was cold and clinical, but he’d given Sandor a job, he’d found an old and tattered apartment to keep Sandor out of the street, and that was enough to begin with to try to make his way. The giant of a man was directly responsible for Sandor’s survival, and there he was, reading the announcement of his death. 

The weather outside of his window suited the way he felt in response to the news.

It wasn’t raining, though it looked on the edge of it; dark and heavy clouds traced their way across the sky. Usually, Sandor liked and even preferred rain, but the impending storm coupled with the news of Tywin’s death made him tired and even a little angry. It didn’t help much that Sansa was in an altered state as well. All afternoon at work, he’d paced the hallway and glanced in on her store periodically. It wasn’t that he meant to do it, it was more that he couldn’t do enough to prevent himself from it. Things were uneven and unsure and it was a little reassuring to see her at her counter.

She seemed agitated, speaking in a clipped way with customers, occasionally frowning in the general direction of Tyrion’s office, exchanging heated whispers with Margaery. Sansa didn’t have much trouble talking to him, and she’d confided in him a few days before that Tyrion had announced some minor changes to the day-to-day store activity, in light of Tywin’s relinquished control of the family business due to his illness. It worried her, but Sandor had done his best to reassure her it wouldn’t be all bad. The anxious demeanors of almost every mall employee and Tyrion’s suspiciously secretive meetings with various strangers said otherwise. He’d seen the Lannisters replace entire stores of employees without so much as batting an eyelash. A few times, they’d shut down stores entirely only to replace them with something “newer” and “fresher” that wouldn’t last much longer than a few months at a time. Sansa’s complete radio silence, truthfully, worried him more than any disturbance of the mall routine. Sansa was always so obnoxiously chatty, not sullen and quiet. 

It was possible she knew something more and was too worried about it to even think of firing a message his way. Although it wasn’t as if Sandor enjoyed texting anyway, it was very worrying to think she might know something she oughtn't. 

Unfortunately for the both of them, on his next pass by he noticed Petyr Baelish.

Sandor didn’t know Baelish personally, but what he’d been told he didn’t like. The man was notorious for his playboy status, though Cersei often seemed to get high off of it when in his company. He was considered a good family friend of the Lannisters’, and he could often be found in Jaime’s company, the two of them partying their way across the city and back again. Baelish couldn’t be called young, though he was youthful, and not without his grace and charm. He wasn't without his shadows, either, and that was what worried Sandor as he passed by.  

Seeing him in Tyrion’s frilly little shop irritated him, but it wasn’t truly, deeply a problem until Sandor noticed the glances Baelish was casting Sansa’s direction. Even worse, she was batting eyelashes right back at him. He was tempted to comment on the interaction in a text, but he remembered himself and drew away from the shop. Sansa was more than allowed to flirt, and most especially she was allowed to have her privacy. She might prefer older men of Baelish’s type and it wasn’t Sandor’s place to say a damn thing against it, though the temptation was very real. It certainly wasn’t his place to be checking in on Sansa as often as he was that day, though his worry could somewhat justify his means.

The poor girl was already stressed enough, and if he could spare her of some further trouble or ease some of it, he would try. Recalling the news on Tywin, he remembered so well at an even younger age being so completely alone. Sixteen, alone in the world save for Gregor who was enlisted in the armed forces, in a large city in the dead of winter. Only when Tywin Lannister rounded the corner of his street was he spared a thought by any passerby. Tywin offered him a hot coffee and took him to eat. He’d been suspicious at first, but it was made clear that once help was given, Sandor wasn’t to say a word to Tywin ever again, and that somehow earned his trust and silence. Standing alone in the cell of an apartment, Sandor had wept in gratitude, but never even cast so much as a glance Tywin’s way afterwards. It was enough that he’d helped at all and Sandor would never ask anything of anyone again, already having been spared more kindness than he deserved by a stranger.

He couldn’t help himself from stealing by the shop again, only long enough to spot Baelish leaned over the counter to say something to Sansa. She was blushing furiously, clearly very enchanted with him, and Sandor couldn’t blame her for it. For all of his flaws and danger, Baelish could put up a very attractive front and profit through it most of the time. Thinking on his own face, he imagined Baelish’s was most enticing; distinguished salt and pepper hair, flirtatious hazel eyes, his entire person meticulously groomed from top to bottom. Sandor’s countenance was far less appealing by comparison; dark hair that hung too long and lank when he didn’t pull it back, flat brown eyes, an attempt at being well-groomed, though his scar took away most of the value of his efforts. The scar was the worst part by far. It was smaller and easier to look at than it had been before he’d found the money to have it worked on and even then, that was more for his own physical comfort and health than anything else.  His appearance didn’t really matter because he wasn’t trying to woo her and neither was she interested in him.

All he wanted a little of her time, to be with her and laugh at her naiveté, because, god, if she wasn’t the most innocent thing.  It wouldn’t be wrong to say he felt attracted to her. He expected nothing life-changing, nothing all-encompassing, but she was very pretty and quite smart, despite her lack of worldly experience. He liked that the world hadn’t had a chance to make her hard yet. One day, she’d be just as cynical and as bitter as the rest of them, but for now she was soft and sweet, which was something he would never have, though he could play at it with her. But, of course, Sansa was out of the question. She was still too young, and with some time and experience, she’d be so far above his head he’d be a joke to her. It was enough of a joke to him that she spoke to him at all, let alone baked for him and even _texted_ him. He was especially careful not to exploit that particular facet of their friendship. He hated texting with every fiber of his being, but it was Sansa’s preferred method of communication, so he suffered willingly. The first conversation would always be his favorite.

_‘I_ _s this Sandor?'_

_‘That depends, is this Sansa?’_

_'Nah, it's Joff. You're fired.'_

_‘What'_

_‘Wow I'm kidding, he can't actually fire you, can he?'_

_‘I hope not or else I better watch my fucking manners'_

_‘You better watch your manners anyway, I'm a fucking lady'_

_'Fucking hell’_

She didn't use text talk with him and she was funny, really funny, when she tried. Thoughtful, too. Occasionally, she’d ask what kind of cookies he wanted, and he’d always either ask to be surprised or for something lemon. Sansa liked lemons, to the point that she apparently would even eat the fruit raw. Sandor wasn’t particularly fond, but he did enjoy when she’d eat with him, so he asked for lemon cookies and enjoyed them heartily.

Baelish long gone, Tyrion was talking to the girls when Sandor passed again. Margaery looked almost gleeful, Sansa’s brow was furrowed. Tyrion looked like a man recently freed from a prison, and in a way, Sandor supposed, he was. For his few good deeds, Tywin had a lifetime of cruelty built up, including the cruelty he used towards his own son. It wasn’t any kind of secret that Tywin resented Tyrion, and though Sandor didn’t much care for him either, he felt a strange affinity with Tyrion for the lack of love his own family expressed to him. Sansa’s troubled look in response to something Tyrion said finally pushed him to reach out to her.

_‘Everything okay, LB?’_

He’d taken to openly calling her Little Bird (LB for efficiency’s sake) because of her habit of singing to herself and chirruping indignantly at him reguarly. She seemed to enjoy the nickname and that was enough to push him to continue with it. 

_‘Stop spying on me. :p’_

_‘I’m not spying, I’m working.’_

_‘Sure. ;P’_

_‘Tell me later?’_

_‘Yeah’_

It was more than enough to know he'd understand more later on. There was no sense in rushing Sansa, she’d confide in him soon, and how he lived for it. Even when she was detailing something irritating that her little sister did, or her haggling with her half-brother over some kind of transportation set up so that she could move, or even lamenting her soufflé failure from the week before, he enjoyed hearing all of it. He’d missed out on a colorful, lively household full of people who loved each other, and it was comforting to imagine what it might be like. It was even more comforting to know she wasn’t missing out and things were different and happier for her than they had been for him.

He passed the rest of the afternoon and evening in the guard shack, convincing Blount to take the hallway rounds for the rest of the day. It gave him some peace of mind to make coffee in the old, awful pot and spend the time he wasn’t keeping an eye on surveillance meditating on the day. Tywin Lannister dead. Baelish at Tyrion’s little shop. Sansa’s creased brow. Bigger changes were coming, if Baelish was on the scene. _More than likely,_ Sandor thought _, a buyout._ For now, they all had their jobs and that mattered more than what may or may not even happen at all. No matter what, Tywin’s death would spell out big changes for all of them, some good and some just irritating. Some bad, too, but he didn’t really want to think on it until it came to that.

When closing time came, he was already at the door, waiting for the last few stragglers to drift out of the dinky little shop. Sansa waved them all goodbye with the sweetest of forced smiles and the cheeriest of voices, and that alone was a comfort. It wasn’t real to anyone who didn't know her, but it was something that was genuinely Sansa.

She noticed him before he could even speak,

“Hey, you got here fast.”

“I just wanted out of that fucking shack.”

She looked at him with some concern over the cash wrap and he pretended to be very interested in some hideous leather platform shoes.

“Is anything wrong?”

“No, just a long day.”

“You’ve been a little weird lately. I know something is up. The way you were pacing by the store all day was freaking me out.”

“There are a lot of changes happening and I’m just...not sure all of them are going to work out well. People could get hurt.”

She looked confused and a little scared.

“Get hurt?”

He’d said too much. This was territory Sansa was never, ever to touch, no matter what he knew. If she got too close to it, they’d hurt her. He’d seen it happen there before, like the store closings. Firings without explanation, occasionally someone wouldn’t be heard from again, sometimes all a salesgirl had to do to get in their bad graces was challenge Cersei or get too close to Joffrey, forget it if she knew anything about the family business. No, he’d never say a thing to Sansa, no matter how he wanted to. What he knew would have to be buried with him.

“Not really _hurt_ , little bird. The changes when a new boss takes over can be drastic. Things are run differently, there are a fuck-ton of new people. Some even lose their jobs.”

Sansa still seemed a little troubled, but she smiled weakly at him.

“Your job is safe, anyway. And it wouldn’t matter much if I got the axe.”

“Of course it would.”

He’d said it a bit too eagerly, and he hoped she would take it the right way.

“Well, no, not really. I just watched Tyrion replace Varys today, just like that.”

That was very troubling indeed. That’s what Petyr Baelish had been doing in the god-awful shop in the first place. Varys did a certain amount of house-keeping to keep the Lannisters’ second business out of their first, and he wasn’t sure Petyr would continue to do so. Sandor had always known him to be a little messier. Sloppier.

“That’s what the little shit was doing?”

She looked visibly annoyed with his choice of words, but she chose not to address them.

“He’s been looking for someone new for ages. Varys was just never around, it was a pain.”

Of course he hadn’t been. He was doing far more important work than babysitting a couple of young ladies and a near incapable young man (being Podrick Payne). Sandor also understood that Tyrion couldn’t have understood the weight of his mistake. He’d never been a part of the family business; that was more Jaime and Cersei’s realm. In fact, to his knowledge, Jaime had never done anything else but blindly serve the family. If the rumors were true, he served his sister most of all.

“I suppose not. Never saw the prick outside of once a week, if that.”

She was annoyed with him again, but her news had been distressing enough that he didn’t much care if he irritated her. He’d have to go out for a drink or four. She pulled out the customary bag of cookies and waved it at him teasingly.

“You know, chocolate chip can be very effective in soothing frayed nerves.”

“I’m not frayed.”

Even he knew his voice sounded sharp and clipped.

“What is with you? Is it this Tywin thing?”

He sighed heavily, knowing he’d have to head her off at the pass.

“Not everything is your business.”

And that had been the entirely wrong thing to say. She was angry at him now.

“So, what, you can harass me via text and by staring into the store all day, but if I respect your space and choose to ask you things in person, _I’m_ in the wrong?”

“I wanted to know you were safe, little bird.”

“You could have just waited and asked me when you came to see me later. Or texted later. Or anything other than just staring in at me like that, what the hell was that?”

He knew she was right.

 “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“Great, then I don’t have to give you cookies.”

He’d lost track of when she’d managed to gather her things together,

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going home because you don’t want to hang out today.”

“I-It’s not that.”

God, she actually looked hopeful, like he might come forth with something.

“It's so many questions. Can we skip the questions?”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Listen, take the cookies. I won’t try to tell you how you’re feeling, but I think it could help…whatever is going on with you today.”

Sansa strode over and deposited the bag into his hands, which were out in a shrug. 

“I’m here if you want to talk about something. You know that, right?”

He nodded slowly, carefully. He couldn’t give her the idea he’d confide anything in her anytime soon. There were many things she just couldn't know. His history. Tywin. The Lannisters. She wouldn't learn of any of it, if he could help it, Petyr Baelish or not. 

“Now come on. I’ve got to lock up and you’ve got cookies to get started on.”

He wanted to take comfort in her presence, in her baking, but he simply couldn’t. Things were about to become far more dangerous for the both of them and he couldn’t imagine they’d make it out as friends. He'd aim for her safety, at whatever cost it would be to him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for taking such a hellishly long time to update! I really wanted to negotiate this chapter the right way and see to it that the plot moves organically. We skipped some time in this chapter (and Sansa will cover the missed ground for us later on)! There's texting! And death! And DANGER. 
> 
> I wanted to say this fic would stay fluffy and easy and happy forever, but c'mon, do you ever have the Lannisters in a story without some kind of looming threat? It just doesn't quite work without a little bit of drama. Petyr's here, also, and it is so good to see him. 
> 
> Look for Ch. 5 relatively soon, it's already underway. :)


	5. Petyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. It's been a semester since the last chapter of this was finished and posted and I am happy to say that I finally have this new chapter here for you! To give you a small update on what kept me from finishing, I'll start by saying that it's incredible the things that fanfic can actually do for you. Because of this seemingly small story, I changed areas of study entirely and decided to pursue English Literature and made all A's in junior and senior level classes right off the bat! Of course, this would have been far more terrifying and difficult without the help of a few wonderful close friends, the love of my life, and the best voluntary mentor/guide I could have asked for. 
> 
> That being said, it was also a very busy semester because of various things I made a commitment to and had to fulfill, but I have since removed myself from those activities to focus more on letting myself have creative time outside of work and school. Every time I stop writing things like this too soon, I'm left sad and disappointed for the characters whose stories I didn't complete, but with the way that Sansan is partially responsible for my current happiness and success, I simply can't let that happen here. We're finishing this thing, folks, even if it kills me. 
> 
> Now, enough, and on to the story. Thank you all for you continued interest and your patience with me. We're beginning to see some "hold onto your butt" territory, but I promise this is just the beginning.

Sansa, for the most part, appreciated it when her schedule remained quietly unremarkable. It was easier, having mostly regulars in and out with a few exceptions. She began to notice growth in the exceptions, punctuated by their visiting Tyrion’s office, and then she realized he was conducting interviews. It was clear, the way all of them were dressed and the way they held themselves coming into the store, Tyrion was looking to replace someone. They seemed a little too ‘qualified’ to be replacing any of the sales team, but the back of her mind worried even still.

None of them were particularly remarkable until the man came in. He was meticulously groomed and dressed and Sansa couldn’t imagine the cost of his suit, let alone his haircut. He slid his glance across both Margaery and herself and sent a shiver down her spine that wasn’t altogether unpleasant. For lack of a better description, he was very hot.  Upon the conclusion of what must have been his interview of sorts, he strode out of Tyrion’s office, looking smug, and winked at her when he noticed her staring.

He looked over at Tyrion’s office and, once satisfied that he wouldn’t be coming out, leaned over the counter in front of Sansa.

“What’s your name?”

“I-I’m Sansa. Sansa Stark.”

“You can call me Petyr, Sansa.”

“Alright, Petyr.”

Something in her was fluttering in response to the way he looked at her. She could feel her blush creeping up her cheeks and neck.

“How long have you worked for the Lannisters?”

“A year.”

“And you like it, pet?”

The way he spoke coupled with his rich accent was both titillating and unnerving all at once. She wasn’t sure if she liked it, but she certainly didn't dislike it.  

“I do. Tyrion is a great boss.”

“I like to hear that, Sansa. I hope we’ll be seeing each other again soon.”

He touched her hand before taking his leave of her. He was far too old to be flirting with her, but he was smooth and charming, and she could at least appreciate that much. If he was the new hire at the end of the process, she knew she’d be in some trouble.

Even in her clouded state, she’d still noticed when Sandor passed by the store in the hallway. It was entertaining to occasionally see him when he’d try to pass by casually, but he’d been passing often that day and Sansa felt annoyed by it. She glanced down at their texts and wondered if she ought to say something about it. She ultimately decided it was best to leave it and hope his odd behavior improved on its own. Texting him to ask him to correct himself would take far more effort than simply hoping.

Sandor always struggled to type an answer for a long while, and she tried to remain patient with him. It was clear that Sandor was either not particularly fond of texting or he wasn’t much good at it at all. It had been her suggestion that they text in the first place. He’d looked at her like she was funny in the head, as he was apt to, occasionally. She’d smiled back eagerly, pushing her phone across the food court table to him. It wasn’t the first lunch they’d had together either; they often took their lunch breaks together by then. Sansa thought very little about it all, more than anything just pleased that she was making friends again. Her friends had all gone their separate ways since the end of school, most of them choosing to move far away to start their new lives as adults, leaving Sansa in the dust of their hometown. Sansa’s circumstances hadn’t been as lucky, but she hoped to make the best of things the way they were.

She had been worried at first that her eagerness was showing too much, but Sandor also treated the move to begin texting as if something special was happening. Sansa imagined he wouldn’t text, if it was avoidable. Holding a phone was somewhat difficult for him to begin with, given the size of his hands and fingers. Hitting the small letter keys was a big challenge for him, but after a few days, he got used to responding to her in a fairly quick manner (for him, anyway).

He deserved to know what was going on, what, with the way the security staff was kept out of the business loop, but it was too much to justify describing over text. And there was a real guarantee he wouldn’t forget. Sandor would be patient from afar and careful not to harass her too much, but he’d make quick turn around and shower her with questions the first moment they were together again. Sansa had once found Margaery’s inquisitive nature obnoxious, but Sandor was even worse than she was sometimes. She knew it was all out of friendly consideration and concern, at least, when Sandor questioned her. Sometimes it was more about concern over the Lannisters’ politics among themselves, though Sansa never could put a finger on why.

Of course, Sansa had seen the whole family behave in rather suspicious ways. Jaime was known especially for his reputation as the most unsavory Lannister. He wasn’t easily found around their shopping mall like either of his siblings; he spent most of his time at the other offices the Lannisters kept. Only a few employees were privy to their existence alone and Sansa had never known anyone to try to spoil their secret. None of the mall employees that she had gossiped with understood anything about the use of their office building, nor why Jaime seemed to be tied into it far more heavily than anyone else. The only thing Sansa understood was that she wasn’t to say a word about it under any circumstances. Cersei had made that much clear, once Joffrey spilled the secret to her.

Tyrion finally emerged from the back of the store sometime later, looking relieved and better rested than he had been throughout the recent weeks. Like he’d solved some kind of problem.

“Ladies, a word, please.”

Both girls leaned over the counter towards him to listen closely. It could be good or bad, but either way, it was news.

“As you’ve probably seen, I’ve been interviewing some people in the hopes of adding onto our staff here at the shopping center. You’ve both been informed of my family’s loss, of course, and I am needed elsewhere at the moment. I’m afraid I just can’t be here to manage the store as effectively as I’d like, so we need to take on a manager.”

Margaery laughed (a little nervously),

“Oh, but I thought Varys was the manager.”

“Varys…has been offered a position elsewhere and we were rather hoping for someone a little more hands on. We want someone who can work well with the customers, guide store productivity, keep us on top, and I think we’ve found him.”

Sansa understood, her heart picking up speed a little as Margaery prodded on,

“That man that came in earlier?”

“You’ll both meet him soon enough, he starts tomorrow.”

Margaery nodded and gently elbowed Sansa. Tyrion seemed to enjoy her eagerness.

“He’ll be taking over things until I can sort through my father’s affairs. The both of you know that this store is my pride and joy,”

Sansa somehow doubted that.

“-but we need someone here every day, managing every shift closely. Cersei brought him in from accounting in the hopes that he’d help us rake in more profits. I hardly need to mention to the both of you that we could use better business. So, let’s keep our best foot forward, yes?”

Sansa nodded, a little uncertain and nervous that the man would be back. Margaery was excited for it too, though it was more likely she was just excited at the possibility of new drama. Sansa’s phone buzzed and she remembered that it was on the counter between Margaery and herself, screen face up.

_‘Everything okay, LB?’_

Margaery’s eyes widened over it, but she did nothing aside from shooting Sansa a playfully suspicious glance. She was a little annoyed at herself for leaving the phone within Margaery’s view, as she knew he almost always used her nickname when he texted her.  Tyrion had left them at least, his point made, which was a relief. She could see Sandor out of the corner of her eye, still pretending to patrol outside of their shop doors. Without fully looking at him, Sansa unlocked her phone and texted back,

_‘Stop spying on me. :p’_

He shifted from foot to foot outside, trying to hide that he was on his phone. She could feel it when he looked in, directly at her, before stalking off down the hall. Another buzz.

_‘I’m not spying, I’m working.’_

_‘Sure. :p’_

She usually enjoyed teasing him, but he’d begun to annoy her with his hovering. He hardly behaved that way, and his pacing made her worry more. Were things with the higher-ups worse than she’d thought at the outset?

_‘Tell me later?’_

As if she wouldn’t. Sandor knew everything that happened in the store purely because she couldn’t help but tell him. He knew almost everything that happened at home, too. Almost. There were some things that he didn’t need to know. She had yet to explain Jon, for one, but other than Jon, he knew most things.

_‘Yeah’_

As she watched him finally make his way down the hall in her periphery, she thought about the cookies under the counter. She’d made so many different kinds by then, and particularly a fair amount of her favorite lemon cookies. It was no secret to her that Sandor had been asking for them for reasons besides just enjoying her baking. They were the only ones she ate with him.

Sansa had been thinking about their friendship more, as they continued to grow closer. He was very reserved and a little cold at times, but his affection for her grew more and more obvious the more time they spent together. The first time he’d called her ‘little bird’, she’d felt her heart skip a beat. He teased her with it more often than not, but he also tried to use it in a kind capacity when he could. She wasn’t used to having a friend who asked after her, who was kind to her from the beginning and continued to be after they’d grown closer. Her friends before him had been fun, more teasing, more sarcastic, and Sandor had a habit of becoming all too serious in response to her own sarcasm. Honesty wasn’t as important before she’d met him and then it was, just like that. Even Margaery had a tendency to be insensitive, but Sandor was never anything but a gruffly tender gentleman to her.

She thought of the man again. Sansa had been flirted with at work before to an obnoxious extent, courtesy of Joffrey Baratheon, but never by someone as charming and elegant as Petyr. She knew nothing of his substance, but the attention swelled her ego and she wondered briefly if encouraging it for her own enjoyment would be wise. It was something she ought to bring to her only friend, but Sansa thought better of it. It was something she’d have to bring to Jon instead; she couldn’t bear to hurt Sandor’s feelings. She pulled her phone out and opened a message to him, pondering what to say to him. She and Jon saw each other more often than the other members of the family saw him, but she was still never entirely sure of how to speak with him.

_‘Hi! You busy tomorrow?’_

It would have to do. Sansa was impatient to see Jon again, but she’d have to work around his vague and busy schedule, as per usual. She was always rewarded at the end of the wait with sound advice and a bottle of liquor to keep in her room at home. Somehow she thought Sandor would be entertained to know that she was related to at least one person with an appreciation for vices. Or he wouldn’t. There wasn’t a very clear way to tell.

The rest of the shift moved quickly as the ‘back-to-school’ season had come again. She wasn’t overly fond of it, but it made the shifts feel shorter and easier, even if she was run off of her feet by the end of the day. Sansa ushered the remaining customers out with enthusiastic gusto and a false smile, and her heart warmed when she noticed Sandor already on the approach. 

“Hey, you got here fast.”

“I just wanted out of that fucking shack.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may feel like a repeat, but it's not. As we get deeper into this story, Sandor and Sansa's dual reflection on events and even on each other will grow in importance. Of course, not every chapter from here on out will be like this one, this re-write-from-another-angle thing is going to be rare, but important when used. Also, PersonalTrainer!Jon is coming, so get hype, my friends. It's nice to be back.


	6. Jon Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! It's just a little one this morning, I'm starting on the rest of it as soon as this goes up. 
> 
> So much for quitting some commitments, it's been an absolutely crazy semester. I've had a little more time to at least work on the plot structure of this fic, but not much to draft some actual chapters and get content up. The long and short of all of the ridiculous things that happened in my life is this: I'm pulling a cross country move over the summer and I'm engaged. My fiance is going to grad school for his PhD and because of the nature of our occupations, it makes far more sense for me to bend over backwards on this one, so I'm going to. Luckily, we're moving somewhere beautiful with far better weather than our current location, and I can finish up at a much better college. That being said, because of state residency laws (and, frankly, my mental state at this point), I'll be taking a year off of school. This is a minor inconvenience to me and a huge step up for the stories I'm working on because without assignments bogging down my free time, I suddenly have a lot more time to write within the next year and will definitely need to keep up the habit to keep myself sharp. 
> 
> So, TLDR; I'm moving to the east coast, I'm taking a year off of school after this semester, and I'll hopefully get to finish this story up within that time. 
> 
> Here's Jon's first bit. :)

Jon wasn’t completely what you could call the black sheep of the family. He had a talent, a job that supported him, and he was even fairly successful at getting a date when he wanted one. He encouraged his younger siblings to break rules, that much was true, but it wasn’t anything an older brother wasn’t already expected to do. Even still, it was difficult to persuade Catelyn that he should belong in the home as much as any of her own children.

None of the others fully understood the problem. When Sansa had been younger, she always argued with their mother, working herself up to the point of tears for Jon’s sake. He’d always told her it wasn’t worth it, but she’d been a fighter from the beginning and wouldn’t listen. It wasn’t that Catelyn didn’t love him, but Jon made things harder for all of them. Money was stretched thinner and out of fear for his development, Ned always spent an exorbitant amount of time with Jon during his childhood, at the expense of Robb and later, Sansa. It wasn’t entirely Jon’s fault, and therefore, he wasn’t entirely the black sheep of the family. That was the most comforting train of thought he could keep up about his childhood.

Jon left home as quickly as possible, fighting to make it on his own. Sansa bought him a terrible cell phone and insisted that he stay in touch. She followed through on her own part of that commitment to the point of driving Jon insane, but he did appreciate the way she acted as his personal family business liaison. They didn’t see each other often and she’d gone very quiet in recent days when her text came:

_‘Hi! You busy tomorrow?’_

Without receiving any other kind of follow-up, Jon knew something was just slightly off with her. It wasn’t Sansa’s style to send only a few words at a time to him.

_‘Sure. Everything ok?’_

She hadn’t responded until far later in the night, as he was nursing a beer and enjoying some Netflix.

_‘I don’t know.’_

Jon knew for sure he’d be calling in to work the next day.


	7. Jon Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, here's another little bit of a chapter. I've kept the last two on the shorter side because I'm finishing up the semester, which means lots and lots of essays. Luckily, we're almost there, and the next bit I post is going to be a lot longer. I love this story and I can't wait to get back to writing for it all of the time. 
> 
> Sansa's more of a laid back middle of the night texter, so that's why her texts are all lower-case. It should also help you keep track of who's saying what in those conversations. Also, Jon's finally here!
> 
> Hope you like it!

 

Sansa rolled over in bed and stared at her phone on the bedside table for a while. The night before, she’d fallen asleep texting Sandor still in her work clothes, and she’d woken up in the wee hours of the morning to change into pajamas and prepare things for bed. She hadn’t gone back to sleep since. Even with their usual lighthearted banter, Sansa couldn’t get what Sandor had said out of her head. She didn’t expect him to lay out his every secret to her, but he certainly knew more about their workplace than he was letting on. Something was wrong. She’d prodded at him for a while before bed:

_‘so today was weird’_

_‘Not a great day.’_

_‘you better now?’_

_‘Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for cookies.’_

_‘anytime’_

_…_

_‘i meant what i said too, i’m here when you need to talk’_

_‘Thanks, LB.’_

_‘i know you're more of a private person, but i really am here'_

_‘It’s late. You should get some sleep.’_

_‘you need to sleep too’_

_‘Goodnight’_

_‘night…’_

Even when Sansa tried to be nonchalant, there wasn’t a hint of explanation for all of Sandor’s strange behavior. She worried about him through the night, among the other worries she tossed around in her head. She couldn’t really imagine having too much fun at work if he wasn’t around, and she wasn’t sure if he’d want to stay in touch if he left. Part of her even worried that she was a momentary source of entertainment and cookies and not truly anything more permanent. Sansa counted him as a real friend, but with what little he’d confided about himself, she wondered if he felt the same way.

Sansa gave up her incessant thoughts and got out of bed, throwing on a nearby t-shirt and sweatpants. She’d have to wear her quiet shoes to sneak out and see Jon; her mother would throw a fit if she actually heard her leaving so early in the morning.

She and Jon had decided early on after his moving away that they’d have to keep fairly quiet about their visits for the sake of harmony at home. Their parents had plenty of things to worry over between the four children still living under their roof, not to mention that Jon caused a tension between Catelyn and Ned. Sansa still wanted to have his friendship. He was the sibling closest in age to her, with the exception of Arya. Often, Jon understood the struggles she kept up with their mother more than her younger siblings could. He was her cool, older brother that all of her friends liked and she adored. Never mind how their mother felt, Sansa always looked up to Jon and she'd never known life without him. 

Jon’s car sat two houses down, with the engine off, and Sansa made a quick jog for it. She’d made it out of the house successfully, but if her mother looked out of her window and spotted her, she’d have trouble later.

“What took you so long?”

“Sorry, I got kind of lost in my head this morning.”

“Yeah, you sounded weird over text. What’s going on?”

Sansa pushed her seat-back as far down as it would go.

“Nothing, really, I don’t think. I made a friend.”

“And?”

She was pleased Jon couldn’t quite see her while looking at the road as her face was neatly turning Vermilion to match her hair. She scrunched her knees up toward her stomach and sighed.

“I don't know. Things have been off lately.”

“And you text this 'he' friend often?”

“I mean, it’s on and off. If someone thinks of something to say, we just say it.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem. He’s freaked out. No dude is truly capable of commitment. All marriages are terrible. Men should all live in bachelor pads and never allow women to violate their manly, masculine space.”

Sansa snorted at him.

“Do you even know what you’re talking about?”

“No, but it’s my job to give you advice and shit, right?”

“And shit.”

Jon reached across the console and tickled behind Sansa’s knee, forcing her into kicking and screaming. He miraculously managed to continue driving without crashing the car.

“To be honest, I couldn't tell you what's wrong with him. Is that really all this is about? A guy?"

Sansa shrugged. 

"And work is weird, too. There's a new manager."

"Listen, I'm fucking starving, I'll need to continue this over food. Breakfast?"

At the promise of oily, delicious diner breakfast, Sansa sat upright and fixed her seat. She could handle anything while sitting in a diner booth with a fresh cup of coffee and buttery eggs.

“Please, god.”


	8. Apple Pie (Cookies)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! For the last two or so months I've been scrapping and rewriting the next Sandor chapter and tonight it became clear to me that it was just time for another Sansa chapter first. Sometimes the writing just speaks to you like that.
> 
> In other news, it's been a whole year since I first discovered Sansan. My Sansanniversary, if you will. Anyway, please enjoy this long overdue chapter. I hope life is treating all of you well. <3

The steady heat of summer poured in through the open kitchen window and Sansa stared straight ahead, past the protective screen and into the yard beyond. She waited tensely for her apple pie cookies to finish, determined not to time the bake except by watching a clock. It was a skill she hadn’t completely mastered the patience for, but she knew it would impress a Patissier if she could claim it. Naturally, the oven timing bit was the hardest part of throwing it all together. Sleeves hoisted up over her elbows, hair plaited neatly out of the way, Sansa could mix and assemble so many miniature pastries she could have catered a moderately sized wedding party. But the standing and waiting? The watching as batch after batch came out too well done or undercooked? It drove her close to insanity.

The nicest thing that came of it was that her mother left her to her own devices when she baked like this. When Sansa’s thoughts pummeled her into baking endlessly, all day, Catelyn would retreat to her study and work on her own projects. It was nice to get a short break from hovering, feminine presence. Arya, however, didn’t count towards it.

Arya sat fairly nearby in the breakfast nook, typing madly on her laptop. It was her senior year of high school, which left Sansa feeling very much older indeed, and the essays were pouring out of her like rushing streams. She understood it. Arya’s desire to run as far from their family as possible, when given the first chance. Only Sansa knew that she was applying to every school at a distance that she could, and Sansa knew it would break their mother’s heart to know such a thing. Sansa had decided such a path wasn’t right for her. Jon and Catelyn would never speak if she moved as far as Arya wanted to, and slowly the rift in their family would grow. It was easier for her to behave as the glue and let the others choose academic prospects. Arya had her fencing scholarships to cash in on, anyway, and all Sansa had to show at the end of high school was an abysmal set of grades and rather sparse extra-curricular involvement. No universities threw money at her the way they did Arya, the way they had Robb. Sansa supposed that was what made her relationship with Jon so easy.

Neither of them had gone to college after graduation, and for a while, Jon simply left and said nothing to any of them. Sansa had thought her father was losing his mind from the worry it caused him, despite her reassurances that he had a phone and sent her brief updates on his health and safety. Once Jon had gotten on his feet, normalcy was, for the most part, restored. Except for Sansa. Sansa had graduated, been graduated, for a year and hadn’t moved out. Hadn’t decided on a future. Catelyn was embarrassed of her and Robb assured her he’d changed majors many times and not to “sweat it”, but Sansa knew in the back of her mind that she’d become the embarrassing, burdensome child Jon had been seen as before. She didn’t know what she was passionate about, but she remembered how school had made her feel, and she didn’t want to clamber back into it so hurriedly. The real change had come the day their Aunt Lysa had visited and informed their mother that her husband was dying.

Sansa hadn’t known him well, but it drove Catelyn from their home, off to stay with her sister during her husband’s last weeks. Sansa was left alone with her father to maintain the running of the household. Every morning she’d work to get them all awake on time, opting to make them all breakfast to try to ease their mother’s absence. Bran and Rickon were still in grade school, with Arya bringing up the lead, in her sophomore year of high school. Sansa figured simple breakfast rolls would work, starting off the first morning with an easy cinnamon roll recipe. The boys loved it, and though Arya pretended to be uninterested, she stole two to take on her way to school. Each morning after, she tried slightly harder things; adding orange to the icing, trying chocolate shavings instead of cinnamon, and eventually graduating to full-on breakfast quiche. By the time her mother returned, Sansa had begun to delight in her small cooking triumphs and she felt renewed, needed, even. It wasn’t a full month after that she began applying to apprenticeships and dishwashing jobs.

The fourth round of apple pie cookies turned out better than the last, Sansa noticed upon their removal from the oven. The pastry was golden brown and she could hear the handmade pie filling singing under the latticing, proving that each disc was cooking through to the core. She let out a heavy sigh of relief, but all that filled the emptiness of her lungs was a slow ebbing sense of dread. That morning, she’d received the call letting her know she’d lost the next internship she’d applied for. Financially, it meant another season at the Lannisters’ shopping mall.

Talking with Jon over a delicious, entirely too greasy breakfast early that morning had helped ease her anxiety about her uncertain future, but the phone call had uprooted all of her prepared defenses. Her younger sister sat at her computer, working and working, and likely to be rewarded for it, and Sansa stood in the kitchen over her first success in several attempts of a batch of cookies. Cookies. Arya would probably be accepted to five schools by the time Sansa could get it right on the first try, and that unnerved her. Arya finally looked up from her screen and pushed her glasses up onto her forehead.

“Sansa, why is the fucking window open?”

Sansa’s head snapped around and she shushed her sister with a conspiratorial wink,

“Don’t let mom hear you swearing in the house like that.”

“No, but really, why is it open? It feels like Satan’s butthole in here.”

She could see that Arya was perspiring in little beads around her forehead and she wondered if she looked similarly.

“You know how this old oven works. It’s much cooler with the window open when I’m using it all day like this.”

“Okay, why are you even doing that?”

“It’s that kind of day.”

Arya sat back in her chair and sighed, throwing her a sympathetic look.

“You didn’t get it, did you? That bakery uptown?”

Sansa aimed her eyes firmly at the granite countertop and began to gather the last of the dishes to the sink.

“No.”

“I can’t believe that. Look at you, you’re already an amateur baker here and no one even really wants you to be.”

Dully, from somewhere in the back of her head, she remembered Sandor enjoying her fifth batch of lemon cookies for the week.

“Ha-ha, Arya.”

Sansa’s eyes found her phone on the countertop near the sink. She’d missed a few texts from Margaery and Jon, which was nothing new. A surprising sight emerged in the form of a phone call. He hadn’t said a thing since they’d said goodnight the night before and she found herself both pleased and worried all at once that her friend had bothered to call.

“I’ll be back to wash these in a second, please tell mom if she comes in and starts freaking out.”

“Maybe.”

“Arya!”

“Yeah, fine.”

She took her phone to the front porch and tried to quell her excitement before calling back.

_Surely he’d have left a voicemail if it’s that important?_

The line rang out for several seconds, but it felt like an eternity to her. She wondered if she’d just missed him when he picked up and the mildly jagged sound of his voice rang out over the other end.

“Sansa?”

“Hi, y-you called?”

“I did…I…I did call you.”

“What’s up?”

She felt dumb, asking so nonchalantly, but she hoped it would lighten things up. He didn’t sound very well. After a long pause, he continued.

“You haven’t read any news today, have you?”

“No, not at all. I’ve been busy.”

He sounded tired when he sighed into the receiver on the other end.

“Well, there’s something in today’s paper that you probably need to read.”

“You can’t just tell me?”

“Just go read it.”

He hung up then. The first phone call they’d ever had since exchanging numbers, and it had lasted all of three minutes, complete with his hanging up on her when he was done delivering his message. She figured he was odd with phones, but not that odd.

The paper was still sprawled under Arya’s laptop from her mother’s morning read and once Sansa had wrestled it away from her, she spotted the small and unassuming headline immediately. Nestled down at the bottom corner of the page,

> “ **DesertNet Acquires Tenth Company In A Year: Local Company Saved From Financial Brink"**

"On Tuesday morning, Golden Lion Properties Inc. and all of its assets were acquired by technology tycoon, Daenerys Targaryen, CEO of DesertNet. DesertNet is new to our great city, but has made its name known globally since its emergence two years ago. At this time, Ms. Targaryen has declined to officially comment on the acquisition or how it will affect the properties that were previously owned by Golden Lion.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of the chapter is a little distracting from my favorite bits of writing this, including talking about how goddamn difficult it can be to move on from home in this day and time and giving Arya a chance to pop in, but I hope you're all still feeling intrigued. Changes are indeed afoot at the Lannisters'- oops, I mean Daenerys' shopping mall. 
> 
> It could be possible that next time Sandor's gonna flesh that out a little more for us...  
>  I guess you'll just have to stay tuned to find out...


	9. A Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, Sandor is a slippery fish that I struggle to catch while writing, but I figured it was time for this chapter. I hope everyone's end of July has been alright so far. My partner and I are getting closer and closer to actually moving across the country, hence the short pause I took before posting this. I should be getting back to a weekly basis soon, thanks as always for reading and commenting/kudosing. :)

 

 

For possibly the first time in his life, Sandor Clegane had absolutely no idea at all what he had gotten himself into. He stared long and hard at the texts on his phone, feeling a pinch in his chest. At no point did he intend upon having to really, actually worry about one of the girls that worked for Tyrion-fucking-Lannister of all people, and he’d had absolutely no plans to start when Sansa had appeared.

She seemed nice enough; she didn’t shy away from him like the others had. She was generous and kind and amusing, but more than anything she was young. Sandor couldn’t remember ever being so young. He wasn’t physically old by any means, but time had aged his mind and stripped away his kindnesses little by little. He didn’t think himself cruel, just lacking in the incredible level of trust and kindness that Sansa was capable of. She’d asked after him so kindly and he’d been such a prick in response, but only to stop the undeniable urge to explain it all to her, from start to finish. Even if it meant he could be a more truthful friend, Sandor couldn’t tell her the worst things about himself. Would she still talk to him if she knew he’d been homeless or that his brother was an abusive waste of space? Unlikely. She had problems of her own to handle and probably more friends to spend her time on, besides.

Sandor did, however, think himself to be selfish. He wasn’t very kind to others, wasn’t good at sharing or listening, and he tended to take his drinks alone. There was no crime in being a selfish man, but it made things very bleak and very lonely. He valued be alone; less to worry about and no one else to look after. Still, sometimes Sansa would laugh at him or chide him gently for saying something unseemly about someone they knew (usually Tyrion), and it made him feel like a young person. A truly young person, ignorant of the true cruelty people could inflict on each other. He hadn’t even left his twenties, but it felt like he’d been in his middle age for a long time. He couldn’t afford to partake in the same naïve luxuries as other men his age.

Tywin had signed him on to that pact years before he knew how hard it would be to forgo the fun and freedom of his young adulthood. He was grateful to Tywin, of course, and couldn’t consider another way he’d have made his way out of the street and into a respectable job, but there were still things he wanted that the job alone wouldn’t get him. A roof over his head and food in his pantry were necessities, and he could have drinks, tobacco, and any number of other comforts except for company. Aside from spending his time with the other guards from work or the occasional easy fuck with someone he’d never speak to afterwards, Sandor wasn’t supposed to have “friends”. The Lannister family never would have trusted him with their secrets if they thought he was the kind of man to enjoy and confide in others. Somehow even that didn’t stop the overwhelming urge to tell Sansa everything.

The Lannisters’ family side business had never been something that bothered Sandor much. To the very day, Sandor could remember Tywin telling him about it over several drinks. They’d both needed the alcohol to comfortably discuss the fact that for years, Tywin had been using the shopping mall and Jaime’s business savvy to disguise their second and more successful venture. The Lannisters trafficked in many things, though Sandor had made it his personal mission not to discover the specifics of their trafficking. It was a matter of self-preservation to refrain from personal contact with that side of their business. He wasn’t told anything truly incriminating, and he was thankful for that fact, but by the end of the night, he knew enough to get himself into trouble if he ever opened his mouth. He couldn’t sink the company that got him off of the street and into an actual life, and Tywin likely often played with people that way. Little debts owed to the family to keep employees in line. And Petyr Baelish was the debt collector. Baelish “cooked the books” and made the calls when something needed covering up. Baelish had broken whole careers, whole lives with his “talents”, which was precisely why Sandor intended to keep Sansa ignorant of the Lannisters’ truth. Baelish sniffing around Tyrion’s little store made him more anxious than anything else. Sansa didn’t know anything she shouldn't, to Sandor’s knowledge, and would therefore theoretically be safe…but with Baelish there wasn’t a way for him to be sure. The bastard seemed to have it out for anyone and everyone, as long as the Lannisters told him so. 

Once, Sandor had known a girl.

He hadn’t known her well, of course, as most of the girls in the Lannisters’ stores couldn’t stand to look his way. She was nice, but spoiled and easily impressed by power. Joffrey had a field day with her. Day in and out, she’d flirt with Joffrey behind Cersei’s back and gossip with the other girls when she should have been working. It wasn’t anything Sandor hadn’t seen the shop girls do before, but this girl earned so much attention that she eventually caught Cersei’s eye. He’d seen that before as well, when Cersei recognized a woman younger and more beautiful than herself. It wasn’t long after that Baelish started appearing around the store on and off, chatting with the girls and intimidating Tyrion. At that time, Sandor hadn’t understood Petyr Baelish’s connection to the Lannisters and thought him just an irritating old creep trying to earn the attention of much younger women. The girl would smile at Baelish and bat lashes over her large brown eyes, which Joffrey naturally hated watching. Sandor loved seeing Joffrey jilted.

And then one day, as if she’d never been there, she was gone. The other girls in the shop seemed unfazed, though Tyrion took time off, leaving Varys in charge. It was enough to let Sandor know something untoward had happened and it bothered him, deep down, though it wasn’t his fucking job to feel bothered. He often thought of her for months after, driving him off of his food and drink and away from sleep until the wee hours of the morning. People didn't simply stop existing, that wasn't how he knew people to work. Even then, all the same, they acted as if she'd never been there at all. Like she'd been some kind of strange, collective dream they'd all woken up from and since forgotten. A fear still sat within him at the thought of Sansa meeting the same fate. She never would, under his watch. 

He thumbed through their texts again, abandoning his worrisome thoughts for a time. Sansa was becoming very good at her baking; each batch of cookies she brought for him was better than the last. With the amount of baking she did, he wondered if any of her paycheck money went to anything else. He admired her dedication to her aspirations and wished he were capable of anything similar. There were so many ways in which Sandor fell short of being an appropriate friend for her. Between being too old to be spending time with her to the fact that he was barely socialized, there wasn’t much about him that made him a good choice of companion. Their conversation the night before, by example, had been terrible. He tried to think of something to say to her to wipe away the awkwardness of the previous night, but couldn’t come up with anything worthwhile. Texting truly was work.

Sandor left the phone behind and made himself coffee in the kitchen, drinking it standing up over the morning paper. He’d gotten into the habit of reading it in the mornings since Tywin’s passing. Each morning there was a chance he’d learn something about the fate of the shopping complex; it was the largest in the area and well known for its massive selection. A buyout or other major change would certainly make the papers. He flipped through each fluff section and straight into Business. Sandor scanned along and saw nothing of interest until…

His heart caught in his throat and he stared at the small column for a few seconds before it began to properly register. Daenerys Targaryen had acquired her massive company from her now dead husband, though if rumors were true, she ruled with just as much of an iron fist, if not more. Every company she’d bought along the way that year had been turned on its head; inside out, with the executives being the first to go. Sandor was keen to see Cersei lose her shares, though Cersei’s loss would mean the loss of others who didn’t deserve it. Others like Tyrion and Jaime. And, of course, if Baelish was as crafty as he pretended to be, the Targaryen woman would see fit to keep him on in their places. With Tyrion gone, Baelish would have free reign over the store. Sansa didn’t have debts with the Lannisters except for being prettier than Cersei, but Sandor had seen that before, and he’d seen it collected upon. Thinking of kind brown eyes again, he felt as if his empty stomach would begin to heave. He had to tell someone. 

The first try at phoning Sansa, she didn’t answer.

 He sat for a moment contemplating whether to try a second time. Was it really worth it to alert her? She couldn’t understand what it would mean, but he felt the need to warn her anyway. Who else was he going to call? Who else would care?

She was calling back, and he watched the phone ring in his hand for a while before deciding to answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did promise some danger, didn't I?


	10. Rings 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a two part-er, the next half will be published a little later today or possibly tomorrow.

Getting ready for work that afternoon was a nerve-wracking affair. 

Between the buyout and Sandor's odd behavior, Sansa wasn't much looking forward to going in for her shift. At least before she'd had something about work to look forward to. Brushing her hair out, she made the defiant choice to braid it that day. It wasn’t the way Cersei liked Tyrion’s shop girls to wear their hair, but the damp, oppressive heat of the late summer was making her longer hair nearly impossible to handle. She could use some dangling earrings to make up for it at least enough that it wouldn’t warrant Cersei’s commentary. The ideal would be that Cersei was so busy handling corporate business, she’d leave the store alone altogether that day, but Sansa knew her a little better. She’d make a point to stop by and comment on Sansa and Margaery to distract from all of the family chaos, leaving her brothers to get their hands dirty with the buyout. 

The ride with Robb to work that day seemed quieter and Talisa had come along with them, which was unusual. Sansa tried to lighten the heavy silence in the car with some light-hearted complaints about Arya’s obnoxiousness at home, but each time, she wasn’t met with much of a reaction. The quiet was concerning, to say the least.

“Robb, is everything okay? You’re quiet today.”

A look passed between Robb and Talisa, quick and almost blank, as if they were both restraining some other facial expression.

“Everything's fine.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes on him in the rear-view mirror. He was speaking in his restrained, yet reassuring tone that told her Robb knew something she didn’t and was trying to keep it to himself. Even after having grown up together, he still believed he could hide things from her.

“No, really, why are you acting so weird?”

“I promise I’m acting entirely normal, we’re just driving to work.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and turned her attention to Talisa.

“Okay, since you’re not talking: Talisa, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do, why is your husband acting like a robot sent to replace my brother?”

“Robb is fine, aren’t you, Robb?”

He glanced at Sansa and then back over at Talisa. Talisa looked slightly angry with him and she squeezed his arm gently, but Sansa recognized it as a warning. Robb sighed and shook his head.

“I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone yet, but you’re the eldest living at home, and I think you can handle it. I wanted to wait until you got off of work.”

Sansa furrowed her brow at him.

“Jesus, Robb, what is it?”

Talisa interrupted him before he could fully start to speak.

“No, Robb. Not right now.”

He placed a reassuring hand over his wife's. 

“It’s mom and dad, Sansa. They’ve decided to separate for a while.”

Sansa deeply regretted having played the asshole only to find out her home life was unraveling. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Dad told me at work this week. I was trying to get some advice for Talisa and I; the baby is coming in just a few months, and he just launched into it. I told him I’d let them talk to you about it, but it doesn’t seem fair to leave you out of the loop like this.”

“That can’t be right. They’re fine! They’re together every night, they don’t even argue.”

“That’s not always a good thing, Sansa.”

She was grateful for the car seat bracing her back. She wanted a lie-down to think and to feel ill about it, but there wasn’t any time. Robb’s eyes looked sad in the mirror, looking into hers.

“I’m sorry. It’s not a divorce, you know. They just need some time apart.”

“No, don’t be sorry, it’s my own fault. I kept bothering you until you told me. I can’t believe they wouldn’t tell me about this. It’s hard enough with dad hardly at home.”

“I know it seems hard, but it might be good for them. Sometimes people need time apart to remember why they were together.”

Sansa could feel her tears like pin-pricks behind her eyes and Talisa lightly smacked Robb on the arm as if to say, ‘I told you so’. She’d clearly been brought along to try to prevent Robb from telling Sansa in the first place. He merely looked faraway and regretful, and chose not to respond to his wife at that given moment.

Sansa was again thankful when he pulled into the parking lot at the mall, though the relief at getting out of the car would be marred by the certain chaos as soon as she got into the store. She reached over and touched Robb’s shoulder before getting out of the car, but said nothing to him. They would talk about it later on, if they needed. Still, what was there to say? Their parents had always been a guiding light for her; a how-to book on being married and settling down. They never fought about the little, petty things, never neglected their children or each other. Sansa thought their marriage must have been the only perfect one in a world full of bad relationships. 

She wished she could feel relieved at the sight of the mall outside of her window, but with the news, she wasn't sure how to press on through the day. 

"Don't be afraid to call us."

Talisa's voice snapped her somewhat back into reality.

"I mean it, day or night, we're here if you or the little ones need anything at all."

Sansa nodded at her numbly and then reached over and squeezed Robb's shoulder. She couldn't bring herself to say anything else to him, but he squeezed her hand back in response. Even if their parents were separated, they didn't have to be. Siblings don't divorce each other. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes life is just a giant vat of "suck". Someone buy Sansa a beer, please. *cough* by "someone" I mean Sandor Clegane *cough*.


End file.
